


this ill-fated love

by confinesofpersonalknowledge



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, ahem, also the character death is vague, and nonspecific, and this is late, anyGAY this is a birthday fic for my friend Andy!!!, bUT I HOPE THEY LIKE IT, i havent written in six months, idk just read it, its an AU, they're wonderful and talented and i adore the shit out of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 08:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16446608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confinesofpersonalknowledge/pseuds/confinesofpersonalknowledge
Summary: Virgil and Roman, in two meetings.





	this ill-fated love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tobeflyhaikyuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeflyhaikyuu/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for Andy, my lovely friend! It's late, but I hope they like it.

They meet in a crowd, both of them there to find the same thing. They meet in a crowd, unaware of each other’s identity, unaware of who the person in front of them is - and who they represent.

There is Virgil, young and sweet, protective and paranoid - he watches shadows shift from the corners of his eyes until they manifest into familiar faces, and he does not relax. There is Virgil, the youngest of the House of Storm, the most protected - the most wary. He fits into his house, lives up to its reputation - the wary, the snappish, the rude - in the way a hand fits a glove. He fits into his house - in appearance, in dress, in demeanor, in every way that does not matter. 

There is Roman, young and proud, confident and insecure. He watches people talk, sees the politics in each sentence, each word exchanged as easily as the gold coins they use to barter in place of precious goods - as if they are worth the clinking of inflated currency, as if they can represent the hours of work and the exhaustion of the people that made them. There is Roman, the middle child of the House of Embers, the most ignored - the most flamboyant. He stands out from his house, leaves behind its reputation - the quiet, the observant - in the way a baby carelessly tosses a toy to the ground for a better one. He stands out from his house - in personality, in manner, in every way that does matter.

They meet in a crowd - hundreds of people gathered to celebrate a yearly festival, coloured powder billowing around them like little clouds. Their eyes are wide, drawn to the other across the crowd each time they look away; they find themselves gravitating to each other like collapsing stars, unable to avoid each other’s gravity. 

They do not exchange names, but they part ways having found a glimpse what they were searching for. It changes them, in imperceptible ways, in ways that are difficult to understand beyond the simple understanding that they are not the person they were before.

After that, they try to find each other - they scour busy markets, passing each other unknowingly as they search for the haunting gaze that once held theirs that night. They scour festivals, attend ones they are forbidden from entering, not caring for the consequences that their actions carry for them. They search the night sky, eyes glimmering for the glimpse of the stars they found in each other’s gaze.

It’s a month before they find each other, an unquantifiable period of undying flames that are finally, finally, quenched at the meeting of seeking eyes. They know who they are now - they wear the colours of their house proudly around them, proudly and defensively. And they know, in the brief meeting that they share: they are ill-fated.

They carry the information in different ways, but both of them grieve.

Virgil carries it like a curse, like everything else in his life. He carries it silently, does not indicate his feelings beyond the darkening of eye-shadows under his eyes akin to a symbol of a lost love. Whispers fill the streets, wondering at the forlorn child of Storms - wondering who stole his heart. Wondering who had the courage to break it.

Roman carries it like mask, as he has always done. No one notices the droop in Roman’s shoulders, the weight that they carry - Atlas stuck under the sky of forbidden knowledge. No one wonders after Roman - why should they? Roman doesn’t allow his grief to be seen, doesn’t allow the world to know the way his heart aches for the one he cannot have. 

It’s a red love, an ill-fated one, a defective one. A remorseful one. A destructive one. 

An enmity lies between the two houses, running centuries deep. History has forgotten the spark behind the flames, but not the burning inferno that the flames gave rise to. There is none who escape the flames unscathed.

Each house has graves accounted to the other. Graves of children, of adults - the inferno is as unforgiving as it is everlasting. It spares none, and it doesn’t spare them.

Virgil and Roman try, for all it’s worth. They try to escape the burden of their homes, running away under a dark night’s cover, the stars their guide. They marry under silence, rings binding their souls together even when they know separation approaches like an unforgiving master. They take comfort in the rings, the shine of gold that promises a treacherous hope.

Together.

But together has never been possible, not for them - not for the outcasts of families who care more for reputation, for history, than they do for the children they bear into the world. They do not care for the peace Virgil finds in Roman - for the way he lets down his guard, for the way his shoulders loosen as the burden of fear is finally lifted. They do not care for the tranquility Roman finds in Virgil - for the way he opens himself, for the love that Virgil returns to him.

They are found, and they are separated. 

The next week, Virgil is engaged to a foreign minister - with kind eyes and freckles and circular glasses. He’s not Roman - he isn’t the dark eyes that shine only with a light Virgil knows, he isn’t a heart too afraid to open to others in fear of rejection. He isn’t Roman. 

Roman finds himself in front of the head of his family, the strictness of his mother’s gaze finally focused on him in a way he has craved from childhood. He finds that he doesn’t care much for it, doesn’t care for the cruelty that hides behind dark eyes that mirror his own. 

They do not meet again. Not in that lifetime. They were not meant to meet.

It’s years - eons, lifetimes - later that they meet. In a crowd, wide-eyed with deja-vu crawling up their throats as they search for someone who should be standing for their side.

This time, Roman takes Virgil’s hand, gentle and sweet and caring, and introduces himself with a flourish bow. This time, Virgil smiles, slow and soft and kind, and ducks his head, mumbling his name. 

They do not lose each other this time; there is no one to tell them that they cannot meet, and so they do. They meet each other in the hallways of their university, in coffee shops, in local grocery stores. Everywhere they look, they can find each other. 

It settles a restlessness in both their souls, a puzzle piece slotting into a waiting spot without whispering a single word. Their worlds suddenly seem to have more colour, the sounds crisper. 

They find each other, strangers but not, meeting finally after having been denied for lifetimes. They do not let each other go.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at confinesofpersonalknowledge.tumblr.com!


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